Today I put the padlock on my bedroom door.
I bought it months ago. It was only a matter of time.
The events which led to its installation are, I feel, part of a larger trend.
I'll explain.
Experience has learnt me that there are 2 (two) groups to whom I am irresistible:
1. Old men. This means men 50+ my senior. They usually tell me how I look like an old movie star. I like to play offended and ask if they are insinuating that I need work done. Then I pull the outer corners of my eyes up so I look “Chinese.”
They usually don't get this. That's fine by me. They're the ones who need fresh lines, anyway.
But my geezers can barely climb stairs, let alone bang down my door.
The padlock is not for them.
2. teh crAzies.
My landlord, my roommate, any number of my boyfriends (kidding!), countless randoms... they all kind of zombie-shuffle into my life, vocalizing incoherently - but with such spirit - and showering me with lots of lurching attention.
Each one, totally nuts. And really, really into me.
Well. At first, anyway.
I would like to think it's because I'm a good listener. I fear, though, that it's because by now I too am corrupted with their stench.
They have been working away at me, trying to turn me to their side. Like magnets on a paper clip, rubbing, rubbing.
Can I blame my mother?
I blame my mother.
Anyway, I should have known what was coming when she – the roommate – started stealing my groceries.
Like, she took my peanut butter and wrote her name on it...so that I wouldn't use it anymore.
That sort of thing.
Next came accusations.
“My friend saw you out at the clubs wearing my pink and black and blue skirt.”
Ha! As IF!
Forget the part where I was "out at the clubs." That is just preposterous. But pink and black and blue? Oh god, the thing probably has ruffles. This is insulting.
No, I didn't take your fucking skirt. It's like 30 below, and it happens to clash with my waffled long underwear.
“But she's a REALLY GOOD FRIEND.”
How do you argue this?
After the skirt was the purple shirt. Then she started telling me -- and others! -- stories that were fabricated start to finish.
Like how she caught me coming out of her room one day and then I sat on the couch with my head in my hands and stared at the floor.
WHAT?!
Like I really want to go through her crap and steal her polka dot eighties revival cocktease clothes. They all smell like cheap fruity shampoo anyway. Harlot.
So she tells me this story, this story that never ever took place, and her eyes are all wide and googly and it's like she is totally convinced that this all actually happened. And the thing is, she is convinced of it because she is in fact totally delusional.
But not just delusional. Ebullient too.
Somehow she's bubbly even at her most severe. It gives me goosebumps.
She leaves this on my Facebook wall:
“Can you please stay out of my shit. Thanks! :)"
When I call her about it she giggles her way through calling me a "manipulative bitch." She mispronounces it too.
Like an evil doll.
Plus she has now gushed multiple threats to come and steal my stuff.
She could. She has a key.
Makes me want to pile all her ugly cotton-poly blends on her stupid fucking canopy bed and torch the whole business.
A padlock is easier though. Honestly, I think the only thing keeping me out of prison is sloth.
lol FUCK YOU xoxoxoxo!!!! :P
